Modern Life
by Xzeihoranth
Summary: The surviving characters of A Circle Within A Circle find a world where they exist, but don't exist, and the lines between fiction and reality become ever more blurred...
1. Chapter 1

_The lamb got her way. The lamb always got her way. How could he say no?_

_They danced on the sidewalk, and met with the approval of another DeWitt, living under another false name, as he mounted the steps to one of the city's most famous brownstones._

_They danced in the Champ de Mars, and where they could feel themselves all around._

_They danced after the fall, in one of the less ruined apartments. A man saw them, but he said nothing._

_They danced on the beach where she had said her first goodbye to Songbird. This newly-remade world had strange powers too, and other creatures that seemed to be seamless meldings of machine and flesh. He might even be happy here someday._

_They slept inside the Event Horizon, the endless blue and purple sky above a silent witness to their respite._

_And then, many journeys later..._

The bartender was just reaching under the counter for a glass to polish when he heard a faint pop and another hand reached for the glass. He jumped nearly out of his skin, straightened up, banged his head on the countertop, cursed, rubbed it, managed to stand all the way up this time, and noticed someone standing beside him. Someone who most assuredly hadn't been there five seconds earlier. "I don't see why you can't let them go. You did with the others." It was a woman, a slender redhead with vivid blue eyes that seemed perpetually bored. She wore an old-fashioned dress, but wore it in a strangely masculine manner.

"Yes, but the others didn't manage to shake off their bonds in quite the same manner." Suddenly, there was a man, somewhat taller than the woman, with her hair and eyes, and a suit instead of a dress.

He stumbled for words. He was QUITE certain he'd relocked the door after he came in and the keys were still in his pocket, though he felt them to be sure. There was something about their manner that was entirely too calm, as if they'd done this many times before. Just as the first words cleared the checking station and were headed for departure, he heard another sound. Try as he might, he never could do it justice later on. All he could comment on was the great rushing of wind, sending the napkins scattering in every direction, and the noise of a million words all spoken at once. He squinted against the sudden onslaught, but just as quickly it died away, leaving a man and a young woman seated at the booth across from him. The young woman lowered her hand towards his laptop and that was all he saw before he fainted dead away.

"Lucky we didn't end up inside him. It's a horrible mess."

"One must clean oneself for hours on end before the smell goes away. DeWitt, do something about the witness, would you?" Rosalind tossed Booker a pistol which she procured from seemingly nowhere. He caught it easily, looked at her coldly. "All this time, all those worlds, and you don't know thing ONE about me." He tucked the gun into his waistband and glared at her some more. "I'm done murderin' people."

"And yet you kept the gun." Robert commented. He offered a length of rope to DeWitt, who took it.

"I may be an idiot, but I ain't a fool." Booker said. He came around the bar, ducked past the Luteces, grabbed the bartender by the scruff of his shirt and dragged him out. As he sat the unconscious man (more of a boy, really) on a chair and began binding him, he happened to glance at Elizabeth, who was typing away on that infernal contraption she'd found on the table. "And what d'you think you're doin', miss?" he asked in mock-rebuke.

"This 'Internet' is amazing!" she said gleefully.

"Careful what you look for, Miss DeWitt. You might find it." Robert said as he took up an old rag from the counter behind him and began wiping the bar down.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, with a curious glance in his direction.

"The Internet, or so I am led to believe, is for porn." he replied.

Booker nearly knocked the chair and the bartender over in his surprise. "It's for WHAT?" he bellowed. Rosalind, meanwhile, looked at Robert with something close to disappointment. "You didn't-" she began.

"I most certainly did." he finished smugly. "I stayed up half the night on the last one."

"Were you doing research?" Rosalind asked in desperation.

"Yes. For a while. You were right: E IS equivalent to mc^2. But more importantly-" He was interrupted by the sight of Booker DeWitt trying, for the first time in his life, to take a toy from his daughter. "Give me that...!"

"No!"

"Elizabeth!"

"It's mine!"

"It ain't yours, you stole it!"

"Well I'm gonna give it back!" She yanked it away from him and cradled it protectively to her chest. Her father sighed.

"Fine. You keep it." She beamed radiantly up at him. "BUT...you gotta promise you'll be careful with it. I don't want you to go lookin' for...what he said." He jerked a thumb sheepishly at Robert.

"That was the LAST thing I was going to use it for!" she said. Booker continued to frown at her until she sighed. "Fine..."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

He nodded his approval, but stood by her for a little while until he saw what she had been doing. Luckily for her, it was nothing untoward; he wasn't sure he was capable of teaching her about all that just yet. He went back to the chair in the corner to finish securing the bartender.


	2. Chapter 2

Having finished with that task, Booker was now eying the boozes on display behind the bar lustily. "If you're going to have a drink, be sure and leave a tip for the poor man." Elizabeth said without looking up from the laptop, and he deflated somewhat. "It's the least you could do after scaring him half to death."

"You're the one who opened the tear." he said, almost sulking.

"True, but I bet it was the sight of your ugly mug that made him pass out." Elizabeth replied, trying in vain to conceal her smile. He cast one last wistful gaze at the array of alcohol, then turned away and made his way to his daughter's booth. "Find anythin' useful?" he asked as he eased himself into the seat opposite her. She said nothing for a moment. Her brow was furrowed in concentration. "Elizabeth?" he asked again, and she jumped in surprise. "Oh! Sorry, I was... Uh... Have a look at this." she said, spinning the laptop around to face him. Booker pulled it in for a closer look. "Is that-"

"That's us."

"How did they get these?"

"It gets worse. Apparently, we're not even real here."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Those are from something called a video game. You play it on a machine like this, but it sits on top of a desk and is much bigger. Or you could play it on a 'console', which has a lot less to offer but it doesn't take as much time to install..."  
Booker slammed the screen down and put his head in his hands. "One thing at a time. Where did they get these pictures of us?"

"They're not pictures, Booker. They're from that video game. They call it 'BioShock Infinite.'""

He sighed. "What the hell does that even mean?"

"I don't know. I guess it has something to do with infinite worlds...? And these..." She pulled the laptop back to her and typed something in, waited for a bit, and passed it back to him. "These are people dressed up like us to promote the game."

He stared at it closely. "The girl I can see, it... It's something about the eyes. But that fella looks more 'n' twice as old as me!"

"It gets the point across though." she said. "Young ingenue on the run from an abusive father, with the withered-up husk of a man as her only means of safety!" Booker looked up at her through his fingers and she giggled. "It's a joke, Booker. He wasn't THAT bad." He sighed again.

"What I'D like to know is whatever happened to our cover?" Rosalind asked from her position in the booth behind Elizabeth.

"It would be interesting to see who they picked to portray us." Robert agreed as he edged Booker aside to inspect the screen.

"They certainly wouldn't do you justice."

"Nor you."

"All right, that's enough." Booker grumbled. He shut the screen again. "Go back to the bar and get me a drink. Make it a martini; stir it, don't shake it."

"Make it yourself." Rosalind retorts.

Robert agrees. "We're not here to provide a service."

"Then what the hell are you here for?" Booker said as he leapt nimbly over the counter-top and began inspecting the selection.

"We're here for our amusement, nothing more." Robert said. Elizabeth, meanwhile, had retrieved the laptop and was busy looking for other things of interest.

"Robert finds the manner in which you escaped the cycle intriguing." Rosalind said, crossing to join her counterpart in his booth.

"And what cycle might that be?" Booker asked.

"Why should we tell you?"

"Well, what the bartender hears is confidential..." he said slyly.

"You're not a bartender." Elizabeth chimed in.

"I did my share." he replied.

"Tea. Earl Grey. Hot." Rosalind said after some thought.

"We don't have any tea." Booker said.

"Well what DO you have?" she said irritably.

"We got booze, booze, booze, booze, booze, booze, booze, and to top it all off..." He served himself an eminently respectable martini (complete with olive), stirred, sipped, sighed, said, "Booze."

The Luteces looked at him expressionlessly. He raised his glass to them and took another swig.


	3. Chapter 3

Booker inspected the last mouthful of martini sadly. "Here's lookin' at you, kid." he said and gulped it down.

"He's done that the last four times." Rosalind complained.

"If you ignore him, he'll go away." Robert advised.

"Hasn't worked so far..."

Silence reigned in the bar then, with only the occasional muffled protest from the bartender, who'd awoken some minutes prior. "Give it a rest already," Booker advised him, setting the glass down on the counter (at Elizabeth's insistence, he'd restricted himself to just the one). "You're gettin' your tip." He pulled a coin from his own ear and held it up. "See? Nice silver eagle, just waitin' for ya." He flipped it, caught it and took a peek. "Heads again. If I wasn't the one doin' it, I'd say it was rigged."

He turned his head at a slight gasp from his daughter. "Elizabeth? What's wrong?" He vaulted over the counter again and was by her side in an instant. "It's nothing. She...she has my voice." she mumbled.

"Who does? What are you talkin' about?" She pushed a button and the woman on the screen, an attractive blonde, continued speaking. It was Elizabeth's voice all right; it gave Booker chills to hear it coming from the machine and ostensibly from the woman on it who most certainly was not his daughter. "Okay. Think we're done here. How do you shut this thing off?" Elizabeth pushed a button for him and the screen changed, then went black. "This place may be nice enough, but that game rubs me the wrong way. How the hell did the guy who made it know so much about us?"

"Maybe he heard it first-hand." she suggested. "Another Booker DeWitt and Elizabeth could have come through and told him everything he needed to know..."

"Hm. Could always go ask him and find out."

"We don't even know his name!"

"We'll think of somethin'." He turned around to find the Luteces waiting for him, holding out a business card. "Now what?"

"His name and address."

"We thought you would find it useful."

Booker took the card reluctantly. "'Ken Levine. Irrational Games. 125 B Street Second Floor Boston, MA 02127' What do you say, should we go meet the man himself?" Elizabeth grinned at him. "That's my girl. One last thing..." He walked back to the bartender who watched him warily. "Those are U.S. Army knots, kid. They're tight, but not tight enough. Shouldn't take more 'n' a couple hours..." The boy yelled at him through the gag in his mouth, but even if he could make himself understood, Booker wouldn't have listened. He returned to his daughter and put a hand on her shoulder. "How'd that song go again? All I remember's the old guy saying, 'It's just a jump to the left.'"

"And then a jump to the riiiiight!" she cheered as she whisked them all away...


End file.
